You are here

Colored Sestina

You are the midnight purpleOf tonight’s sky, the blood redThat stains my wounds, the tender blueOf bruised eyelids, the sting of orangeJuice, the vibrant greenOf a newborn bud, barely yellowed.

Times passes as your face embraces ancient yellow,And your fingertips turn purple,But you are still as beautiful as young green,Sophisticated like the boldness of redSatin, the memory of the sting of orangeJuices on your tongue, the shock of blue.

Of frostbite, then a deeper ocean blue,Or a brighter yellowBee, suckling on a decaying orangeFlower, bruising purpleFrom wear and tear of the redBlazing fire, which will yield, someday, to youthful green.

Will you lay with me in the aged greenGrass, or gaze at the blueSky? Will you pluck redRoses, be nicked by their yellowCynicism of the world, of men? I am but purpleAdoration, and I hunger for your blueEyes, your buzzing yellowHappiness, your certain fondness for red.

I kiss your cheeks of rosy red,Flushed from your orangeDesire to see the yellowSun. You look to the fresh greenHorizon, to the new blueSky, and I realize I am not your love of purple.

I cannot bear to watch you embrace red, or purple,Or orange or blue,For I am green with envy and full of desire yellowed.